When Christmas is About Other People

Winter came early to Boise, and we have taken great advantage of the eight inches of snow blanketing our world! Snowshoeing, cross-country skiing and yesterday, sledding with seven children from the weekly small group Bible study we have in our home. Success is seven children sledding and no injuries! I had to scramble to outfit the kids in outdoor gear, sending the kids outside in oversized snow pants, boots and gloves belonging to various members of our family. 

I’ve spent the last week at Target and Costco, trying to find gloves, hats, boots, coats, and snow pants so these kids can be warm as they walk to school. Some of them walk almost a mile to school each day (one way) and in the last week Boise has broken three long held low temperature records. So in case you were wondering. It’s cold!

Our little church here in Boise is home to about thirty Congolese refugees and is growing almost weekly as more friends arrive from Africa. We love the diversity our friends bring and were thrilled when this summer they started their own weekly Kinyarwanda language church service.

For the last several years our church has raised money to share Christmas with families in our community who need a little help. We call this endeavor Christmas Star, and it is a lot of fun. We provide grocery store and department store gift cards as well as gifts of toys and clothing and have a lot of fun wrapping and delivering it all.

This year we have more friends than ever to share with and we’d love your help!


If you would like to donate to the Christmas Star, please write a check payable to Oasis SDA Church and write on the check “Christmas Star”. You can mail the check to me at Shawna Benedict, P.O. Box 9741, Boise, Idaho 83707 or to the church directly at 501 North Curtis Road, Boise, Idaho 83706. All donations are tax deductible.

Things that Make Me Want to Scream

A scene from one of my favorite movies reminds me of myself. In the film French Kiss, Meg Ryan is trying to get the concierge at a posh hotel in Paris to assist her. He is playing straight into the French snob stereotype by ignoring her and treating her like American riffraff. In frustration she leans over the silver bell sitting on the counter and repeatedly hits it while she grits out, “Makes me want to scream!” Not surprisingly, the concierge quickly becomes more attentive.

Sometimes I feel exactly this screamingly frustrated with myself.

In January 2014 I set a reading goal for myself of 48 books. Four books a month. It seemed attainable and, indeed, it looks like I’ll reach my goal. I read a lot of books about spiritual growth. A lot of God books. Yet I noticed something in this year of reading. So often it feels like I’m reading and highlighting and agreeing or not agreeing with an author not so much because I want to grow in my spiritual life, not so much because I want to know God more fully, but because I want to prove someone else wrong. I want to be able to say (or at least think behind your back), “See! I’m doing it right and you’re not. So there!” It was when I realized this yucky fact about myself that the French Kiss scene popped into my head. I wanted to scream in frustration at myself and my sad need to be right.

Beth Moore writes, “Humility is the truest sign of intimacy with God.” I realized I was in desperate need of humility, so I began to daily and repeatedly ask God to fill me with humility. I don’t want to read and study simply to know a lot. I want to be gentle in my knowledge and when I share, I want it to be done only ever in kindness and not out of pride or an attitude of, "I know better because I read those 48 books this year. . that you didn’t!"

The know it all life is a path I walked for too long. I love to read but coupled with my insecurity over not having a college degree, means I have (had) a pretty annoying desire to prove how smart I am.

In his book, The Truest Thing About You, Dave Lomas writes, “Slowly, achingly slowly, I was learning to understand that I am deeply loved by God, and because of Jesus, God is well pleased with me. . . Every other identity I create for myself is an illusion.”

And so I began to let go of the fake me. I loosened the grip I had on my identity of being the “well-read” one, and began to see myself as deeply loved by God. First. Before anything else. Before anything I do (or read) - good or bad - I am deeply loved by God. There is no need for me to be right or well-read or know more than you. God just loves me. Period. The end.

Lomas writes, “There is a fundamental difference between who we are and what we do” but, “We believe that we are what we do.” That has been me most of my life, but no more. I am living into and believing God loves me before I become worth loving. But hear me when I say, “THIS ISN”T EASY.” Letting go of the try hard life is - well - hard. Living more than forty years earning the right to be loved doesn’t fall away overnight. It’s a bumper car journey at best. But it is still best.

I’m so grateful for books and a love of reading. I never want that to change. I just want my purpose, my end goal to be different. I want to read and learn and grow and share and be always becoming the truest me. The Shawna God sees.

"Knowing who God says we are and following Jesus into this new way of being human will change everything about our lives." Jonathan Martin Prototype.

Thoughts on Life from a Three Year Old

Sometimes I think I should write a blog dedicated to the hilarious and profound sayings of my three year old friend, Simbi. It would be a big hit.

I just returned from two weeks away so maybe she’s been saving her words for me, but she was especially memorable last week.

Here are a few gems:


After waking from a nap she sat up and said, “I’m done sleeping.” In case I wasn’t sure. I mean perhaps I looked confused.

We talked about her Uncle Chris having a birthday last week and she said, “I want to go to his house and find his cake.” Pretty sure she was afraid someone was eating cake without her.

When I told her my son Caleb would be flying home from Portland where he lives she responded with, “I will be so happy to him.”

While she was singing, “The Books of the Bible,” (which not surprisingly is a song intended to teach children the names of all sixty-six books of the Bible), I mistakenly joined her. She stopped abruptly and shared these not so gentle words with me, “I don’t need help.” Well then.

I thought once my children were grown, travel would become easier, that I wouldn't miss home so much but that was an illusion. Now I just have more people to miss, and I am grateful.

Sleepless in Lisbon

my love in travel and life

I have sleep issues. Unlike my husband, I cannot fall asleep one nano second after climbing into bed, while a siren blares on the street outside and dogs bark outside our window. No. I must be in the perfect “sleep” position, pillows in strategic locations, my mind at rest and filled with peaceful thoughts. If I start planning the next day’s schedule, bye-bye sleep.

Now throw in a different continent, different time zone, strange bed (same pillow because I’m not stupid and that thing goes everywhere with me), an outrageously loud elevator banging and clanging right outside our door and an amazing Airbnb apartment with floor to ceiling windows on two sides and a city that never sleeps, where apparently the lights literally never go out. Where is the darkness? It is night and night is dark! This is me in Lisbon, Portugal. Sleepless for two nights. On night two I found sleep at 4:30 AM. This does not make me an appreciative traveler. It makes me cranky. It makes me think Lisbon (a beautiful city) is stupid. It makes me think the people here (who are polite and helpful) are mean and rude for speaking Portuguese. Why can’t they speak words I know?! The only Portuguese I’ve learned are “good day” and “thank you,” and everything else comes out of my mouth in French, which makes me feel stupid because it’s not even good French! The other day I said, “merci” to a woman followed immediately by “sorry” and that didn’t feel awkward at all. . . 

Travel is like life on steroids. Your eyes see things in HD. Noises are different and louder. People are closer and there are more of them (okay that’s actually true in Europe). It’s harder to hide feelings when you’re exhausted and fears have a way of jumping to the surface.

Don’t get me wrong. I love travel and new cities and seeing how other people on the planet live. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve stared at a toilet in a strange country wondering, "How in the world do I flush this thing?" That’s why we travel, right? To experience different plumbing? Okay, maybe not.

Finally, though on night three in Lisbon, I slept EIGHT hours. Eight hours of sleep is heavenly. Eight hours of sleep makes me happy. It makes my husband happy and not scared to spend the day with me. Eight hours of sleep helps me appreciate the view from our ninth floor apartment.

a room with a (fabulous) view

Sometimes I let ridiculous things steal my joy. I let small things distract me from the world around me. I forget that once this day is gone, I don’t get these experiences back. This happens at home too. It’s not just a travel thing. I wonder how awesome each day could be if I didn’t get sidetracked by what I think isn’t fun or good.

On sleepless night one in Lisbon as I lay in bed I was frustrated and then mad and then afraid and then very, very lonely because insomnia, wherever you experience it, is a lonely business. I prayed and repeated my “insomnia mantra” which is a Bible verse I have tweaked for myself. It goes like this, “The Lord is my refuge in sleep.” (Shawna’s revised version). I said this over and over and still was filled with anxiety.

The next night I didn’t find sleep until 4:30 a.m. but fear didn’t fill me. I lay sleepless, but not afraid. I let peace find me. I didn’t get mad at myself or beat myself up about my inability to sleep. I’m pretty hard on myself. I don’t often give myself a break for messing up, and I don’t forgive myself easily. 

books in any language captivate me

Last week Kevin and I attended the Storyline Conference in Chicago (three days of awesomeness), where I heard Glennon Doyle Melton speak. She was amazing. I think we should be best friends. I immediately downloaded her book Carry On, Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life on my Kindle. I read her book in two days and here is my big takeaway. Accept grace. Forgive ME. Accept grace for ME. Forgive ME. I’m not good at this. I want to be. I think God wants me to forgive myself easily, to accept grace for myself as a natural thing. I know that’s what he does. He forgives every time I ask. Every time I mess up, there he is saying, “Shawna you are forgiven. I love you as much now as I did on that day when you were filled with such a deep depression you didn’t want to wake up anymore. I love you as much today as I did on the days you spoke hurtful words to your children.”

I am not all the way there yet but I will be, because God is bigger than my mess. His grace is bigger than my unforgiveness. I’m living into a day where I truly believe God thinks I’m just as amazing on my bad days as he does on my good days. I hope you’ll join me on this journey. I hear the ending is awesome.

When Everything is Not Okay

There is a scene of my life that plays back vividly in my mind. Twelve years ago my dear friend Carline and her sweet family moved from the house next door to ours in sunny Boise to rain-drenched Seattle. It was a hard day. We had become everyday friends, beating a path between my backyard and hers. We had removed a shrub from the hedge separating our backyards so our families would have quick access to each other. It was to her back door I ran at 6:30 in the morning when my husband was stuck in Boston the week of September 11, 2001. It was in her kitchen I learned the real love of cooking. We shared afternoon coffee together each day on my patio. It was the first time in my life I had let a friend into my heart that closely. It was good, and I am so grateful. 

And then she was gone, and it was a hard goodbye. We hugged and cried and she got into her car with her family and they waved goodbye. As we stood in our driveway watching them go, my sweet husband pulled me quickly into the backyard so we couldn’t see them disappear. It was his way of protecting me, of pretending this wasn’t happening, that everything was just fine. But everything wasn’t just fine, and we were pretending.

Today, I try not to run away from sorrow. I’ve learned to keep my heart open during the hard times. I think it’s okay to sit a while in our sadness when pain shows up. I mean, look at all those lamenting Psalms in the Bible. Those were written by men sitting - nay wallowing - in their grief and giving God a complete rendering of their fear and sadness and anger.

I decided a few years ago I would not automatically try to avoid pain and grief, but would allow myself to lean into it for a time. It feels healthier to do so. Whatever is happening to cause me pain is there whether I embrace it or not, and things happen in life that deserve our pain and sorrow. When my children move away, that deserves my sadness. It’s how we know the love is big. When my friend is diagnosed with cancer (again), that deserves my pain and sorrow and anger and questions. It is only as I work my way through those darker emotions that I can get to a place of peace.

It is a huge relief to know I can be real in life and real in my relationship with God. He already knows how I feel, and pretending everything is okay only creates a barrier between my God and me. And in the hard times, especially, I want permission to be myself and sink into God’s embrace. He can handle whatever emotions are churning inside me. He’s there wanting to walk me through the pain.

Today, Carline and I continue to find joy in our friendship, albeit a friendship that now crosses half of the United States. I learned something new even in our out of sight friendship. I learned how to stay connected to someone who is no longer a part of my every day life. That was another first for me. But that’s another story.

“With my voice I cry out to the LORD;

     with my voice I plead for mercy to the LORD.

I pour out my complaint before him;

     I tell my trouble before him.”

Psalm 142:1

"Part of spiritual maturity is ceasing to think 

that everything that is hard is bad." 

Beth Moore

When Does Compassion End?

When do we decide to withhold compassion? Where is the line I wonder and what is the tipping point? How do we go about deciding who deserves our compassion and for how long?

Last week I read Gregory Boyle’s book Tattoos on the Heart, the Power of Boundless Compassion. This is perhaps the most beautiful book I’ve ever read. Gregory Boyle shows us how to love and just never stop. Here are a few quotes:

“The strategy of Jesus is not centered in taking the right stand on issues, but rather in standing in the right place - with the outcast and those relegated to the margins.”

“Compassion is always, at its most authentic, about a shift from the cramped world of self-preoccupation into a more expansive place of fellowship, of true kinship.”

“Meeting the world with a loving heart will determine what we find there.”

“Sooner or later, we all discover that kindness is the only strength there is.”

This week as I’ve watched the sadness and loss and tragedy unfold in Ferguson, Missouri, I have been asking myself to feel compassion - to deep inside myself care - for everyone involved. All sides. I have not lived their lives. I cannot say what I would do in their shoes - not Michael Brown’s shoes, not the police officer’s shoes. Not their mothers’ shoes. Not the protestors' shoes. I have lived my life and have my own experiences, and it is this life and these experiences that influence each decision I make every day. Each action I take is a reflection of my past and who I have decided I will be today.

I hope I grow into a place that loves more and judges never. I hope I grow into a place that sees the world and all its brokenness and instead of blaming, shares the blame and sees the sadness and doesn’t look away.

Gregory Boyle writes, “Close both eyes; see with the other one. Then, we are no longer saddled by the burden of our persistent judgments, our ceaseless withholding, our constant exclusion. Our sphere has widened, and we find ourselves, quite unexpectedly, in a new, expansive location, in a place of endless acceptance and infinite love. We’ve wandered into God’s own ‘jurisdiction.’"

Holding on and Letting Go

Ten years ago I was watching my 15 and 10 year old children race towards adulthood and life away from me. And I was terrified. I thought about my son and my daughter living their lives outside of my protection, and my imagination would run wild with fear. I thought of my own life without their constant presence, and it was impossible for me to see how that life could ever be good and full of joy. I had made them my security blanket, and I was holding on with both hands. 

Parenting requires such sameness and yet such fluidity. You must be always constant and yet ever able to change and grow along with your children. 

Growing into relationship with your adult children means remaining who you are and yet daily becoming a more grown up version of yourself. I recognized that if I wanted to maintain the close bond we shared, I was going to have to grow up right along with them. 

When Caleb turned 13 I remember going into his bedroom and saying, "Caleb, your dad and I have never been parents of a teenager before. We're going to mess it up. We're going to forget you’re not a little boy, and  we’re going to hold on too tightly sometimes. But we love you so much and we're doing our best. Please be patient with us."  

Be okay with being wrong as a parent. Be quick to apologize, because, honestly, we know when we've messed it up and hurt our children. Our children don't think we're perfect anyway, and it is only by being honest with them and humble enough to admit our mistakes that we keep their respect.

Be okay with your children choosing a path different from your own. I began to realize if I wanted my children to enjoy spending time with me, I must let them be who they are. And not only that but love who they are. I don't need to enjoy everything they enjoy, but I need to be okay with our differences. 

In our insecurities we often think if others don't like what we like, then our way of living is not the right way. It's why so often we become friends only with those who mirror us, because being with people who believe everything we believe, makes us feel we're doing it right. If our children grow up to have different likes or dislikes or lifestyles or beliefs, it can make us feel the life we have chosen is wrong. We need to get to a place where we are secure in who we are, so we can let our children be who they are. 

Authentic love and joy is found in knowing who we are. 

The Illusion of Finishing

On Fridays I (sometimes) link up with Lisa-Jo Baker for a writing flash mob. I write for five minutes on the topic Lisa-Jo has chosen. Today's writing prompt is finish.

Yesterday I had lunch with two dear friends. We have watched our children grow from first graders to college students. As women are apt to do, we talked about everything under the sun - summer travels, clothes, exercise, church, our work and, of course, our children. After a good, long talk I commented that being the parent of adult children is so much more complicated than parenting babies and grade schoolers. 

When we are young parents, we think we have it is so hard. Juggling school schedules and sporting events, and field trips and birthday parties, dentist appointments and keeping our growing children in shoes that fit. All of this requires so much energy we fall into bed each night exhausted thinking it will surely be easier when they’re older. And honestly it is easier in that it requires less physical energy. But yesterday we laughed at the naiveté of our younger selves. How could we have known being the parent of a twenty year old requires so much more brain power? It makes those younger years seem simple.

Perhaps there is no such thing as “finishing.” We are never finished parenting. We are never finished loving. We are never finished laughing so loudly we embarrass our children (some of us). We are never finished crying. We are never finished finding the beauty around us. We are never finished being brave or making hard decisions.

Finishing is an illusion. For every day is new. Every day is a gift. Every day is an opportunity to grow a little further into that person we were born to be. And I really never want to finish parenting.

The Courage to Bloom

On Fridays I (sometimes) link up with Lisa-Jo Baker for a writing flash mob. I write for five minutes on the topic Lisa-Jo has chosen. Today's writing prompt is bloom.

Sometimes the biggest obstacle to blooming is - well me. To bloom, to grow, to create - this is not always easy. Writing requires me to be very brave. To be vulnerable. To share thoughts and emotions and fears and dreams. Some days this is easy - okay that's not true - writing for me is never truly easy but some days it is easier than others to be vulnerable and translate what is inside of me into the written word.

"It takes courage to not only accept our limitations but embrace our potential. To deny our creative nature is to choose a life where we are less and thus responsible for less." Erwin McManus, The Artisan Soul

Somehow I have convinced myself I should write only when the writing comes easily. And so I will remember the brave me I have the potential to be. Words are powerful and in a world where cruel words are becoming ever more acceptable, kindness matters even more.

"You are powerfully gifted by God. He prepared in advance for your contribution to this world." Beth Moore, Children of the Day.

A Messy Kind of Community

"We all want community, but the best community happens when we pick a cause or pick some people to help. Christian community happens only in a community with people who actively follow Jesus. And if you get some friends to pursue a common struggle, you will find a level of community that you could never find by just looking for friends. Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, 'He who loves community, destroys community; he who loves the brethren, builds community.' His point is that when people focus on finding Christian friends to huddle together with, they generally destroy the utopia they’ve built up in their minds, but those who simply love people always create genuine, deep community." (Flesh: Bringing the Incarnation Down to Earth, by Hugh Halter)

In January of 2013 a small band of Jesus followers huddled together in our living room to discuss a kind of triage. A single mom from our church was being evicted from her apartment. Knowing what was about to happen to her and her three children, we could not do nothing, and from that impromptu meeting was born a community.

A few days later we helped our new friend move from her apartment into a homeless shelter. And when I say helped I mean we showed up en masse at her apartment and started packing. And it was chaos. We couldn’t communicate with our friend because at that time, her English was nearly nonexistent, and our only translator was a nine-year-old boy. Packing and moving is not fun, but packing for someone else is just weird. “Do you want to keep this receipt? This broken toy? This half used box of tissue?” Oh that’s right I can’t ask you because I’m American and I speak only one language. I remember saying that evening, “Ministry is messy.” And it is. You want a ministry that isn’t messy, then volunteer to shelve books at the public library or model for a local charity fashion show. . . but personal ministry is always, always messy because we’re all human and we bring our brokenness into everything.

So it was out of that messy evening a community of ministry was born. Three of us took the lead. We are three working moms - a doctor, a social worker and a business owner/former paralegal. And let me just say, that with our determination and professional backgrounds, we can get it done! We don’t always know what we're doing but we know how to find answers. We have fumbled and overreached, but we have learned to be humble and to recognize when to lean in and when to pull back. Eventually we termed ourselves the Surprise Squad, because in spite if our best efforts at planning and organization we were continually surprised at what came our way.

We have done a lot of good together and probably some harm. We’ve walked together through sadness and fear and joy and success and frustration, always believing God is good and he put us on this path. And we have been so very blessed. Blessed because we get to be part of restoring hope and a future to our refugee friends. And blessed because of closer friendship with each other. This community born out of need, has made us into a community that is more than ourselves. More than our own enjoyment. The bond is stronger, more purposeful, holier. And I am grateful.

"You need a fight so that people will see God as He truly is. The best witness isn’t telling people concepts about God. The best witness of the gospel happens when people see an entire community sticking up for people who are nameless, voiceless, or powerless. Every Jesus follower should be an activist an abolitionist, or at least an advocate.” (Flesh: Bringing the Incarnation Down to Earth, by Hugh Halter)